Chapter 16 - Maybe I'm Not Meant to Be Here

A/N Edit: Hey everyone, it's Hemza! Hope you're all doing well and wishing you all a lovely start to your weekend. Everyone except Darian, that is. She's the worst and is off having fun at a convention this weekend, the audacity. I swear we get along. Anyways, thanks as ever for your continued support of the story, you're all the literal best and we appreciate each and every one of you. Except Darian. She sucks.

She shouldn't be this nervous and she knew it. She had no reason to be trembling in her seat, hands clenched tightly against the scratchy fabric of her uniform skirt. She knew that her homeroom teacher would listen to her with no judgment, but that thought did nothing to placate the nervous storm brewing in her stomach.

She'd gotten to class far earlier than she needed to, an hour before any of her classmates were set to arrive, to be specific. Aizawa had only agreed to the meeting after consulting with Sakura, and Emiko had been forced to listen to her aunt's overly flirtatious giggles for the duration of the conversation.

She'd rolled her eyes and pretended she couldn't feel the lust washing over Sakura, an emotion nobody had any right feeling coming from family. She needed this meeting - needed a chance to speak with her teacher uninterrupted, and if that meant watching her aunt making goo goo eyes at her high school crush, Emiko would grin and bear it.

"Komatsu, good morning." Aizawa called, stepping into the dimly lit classroom. She hadn't been able to turn on the lights, though she was grateful that the door was unlocked, at least. Aizawa's wild dark hair was pulled back into a bun, exposing the scars on his face from their fight with the League during the USJ training day.

"Good morning, sir. Thank you for meeting me so early!" She bowed her head, adjusting herself awkwardly in the stiff plastic chair.

Aizawa only nodded, setting a steaming mug of coffee down on the podium at the front of the classroom, before pulling a chair up to sit closer to his student. Up this close, Emiko could see the dark bags under his eyes and suddenly felt guilty that she'd taken up any of his precious sleep time. The man who already looked perpetually exhausted was showing an entirely new level of tired.

"What's going on?"

The question was simple, and the answer was so obvious.

"I-" she paused, attempting to make the words come out of her mouth. They seemed stuck in her throat, an obstructing, overwhelming ball she wanted nothing better than to dislodge, but her body wasn't cooperating. "I don't think I should be here."

Aizawa looked at her, his hooded gaze not shifting or giving away any change of emotion, but her quirk, as ever, tipped her off. Waves of confusion swirled around the classroom, dancing in Emiko's thrumming pulse.

"You called the meeting, kid. You're free to go whenever you want. I'll just take a nap, if you want to go so badly."

She sighed, pressing the palm of her hand against her forehead in exasperation at her inability to coherently express her intent. "No, not here, here. Like…" she paused again, her throat closing around the words she desperately didn't want to say.

"Like, the hero course."

She spat the words out as if they were a disgusting taste in her mouth, which they were in a sense. Her heartbeat increased, if that was even possible as a startled Aizawa stared at her, unblinking.

"What do you mean?"

Again, the question was simple enough, though the answer wasn't quite as straight forward.

"I don't think I should be in the hero course, and I want to be transferred into General Studies."

She knew he wouldn't be happy with that answer, knew he wouldn't give up on one of his students that easily.

"Why? I thought you wanted to be a hero, Komatsu? What changed?"

Her brain was scrambled, images and memories flashing through her mind with each beat of her pulse. She could feel the panic growing with each passing second, each fleeting moment of time in this very classroom slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

"I fucked up."

She hadn't meant to curse, hadn't even realized she had until Aizawa choked out a laugh.

"When we all fought Stain, I almost died - and in turn, I put all of them in danger trying to save me."

She tried to say it casually, but her hands were shaking as she fisted them even more tightly. She fought against the tears that threatened to slip over her lashes, because she knew if even a single one fell it would unleash the tsunami that had taken an immense effort to hold at bay since she was released from the hospital.

Sakura had gone all out for Emiko's coming home 'party'. Balloons adorned the living room, string lights strung haphazardly across the stair railings and draped from the ceiling. She could smell freshly baked cookies, noted with a soft grin that they sat on a plate in the kitchen just begging her to eat them.

"I moved some of your stuff downstairs, to the guest bedroom down here. I know you're probably fine, but I wanted to give you the option of avoiding the stairs until you're feeling a little better." Sakura grinned toothily, squeezing Emiko's hand.

She tried to smile back, but found she couldn't quite get her face to cooperate. The sadness tugging at her heart was too strong, too stubborn. It refused to let go as Emiko was dragged through the living room, as Sakura pointed out all of the tiny, thoughtful decorations she'd laid out to welcome her home.

"Do you want to see your room down here?"

She hadn't even waited for a response, choosing instead to tighten her grip on Emiko's fingers and tug her towards the only guest bedroom the house had. The door swung open, and Emiko felt like she was stepping into some sort of time capsule.

She'd only been gone for a week and change, but it felt like she hadn't been home in forever. Somehow, Sakura had managed to move everything downstairs, but had kept it all in the same place. Her collection of ceramic animals sat proudly on her bookshelf, lined up in a grinning row. Her books were lined up exactly how she liked them - color coded and in alphabetical order.

A few things were different, though. Her clothes weren't sitting in a dirty heap on her floor how she left them, nor were her bedsheets strewn haphazardly across the mattress in a lazy attempt to make her bed.

Her plants lined the window sill, leaves shining brightly in the sunshine pouring in from outside. It should have made her happy, seeing her things again. Seeing her stuff, her plants and her collection of silly, ceramic animals. It all should have brought her joy, because she was home.

Sure, she was still in pain. And sure, her brain wouldn't turn off and if she focused hard enough, she could still feel the bite of a sword digging into her side. If she closed her eyes and breathed just right, she could still taste that sickly sweet, metallic flavor on her tongue. She could still see the manic, skeletal face of her assailant looming over her.

And yes, her heart hammered in her chest every night as dreams of Stain's laughter taunted her. His emotions still lingered, his hatred and rage lived in her veins and took over as she trembled in that hospital.

She wanted to scream. He had taken so much from her - what little innocence she'd clung to with childish stubbornness was gone, yanked from her grip in a few passing heartbeats. He had cut her down, showed her how easy it would be for her to be killed. How simply someone could take her away from the life she so loved.

That realization, that horrible sinking feeling had rooted itself deeply in her chest. Had blossomed and grown, a festering, terrible wound that she couldn't seem to heal. Each time she thought about her future, all she could see was the pain she would cause if she ever lost a fight. If she ever let her guard down again. If she ever tried to fight again, she knew she would lose.

It was engraved on her soul, that notion. Stain had made her realize that her ultimate goal was impossible. She would never be a hero - no amount of training or prep or help from anyone would ever be enough. She would forever live in the shadows of her friends, would never be recognized as someone who could truly save people. He had taught her that she was better suited to live a comfortable, safe life behind a desk. She would put less people at risk, that way.

This room, her things, only furthered that idea. Her aunt had thought her so weak, so feeble and fragile that she'd spent hours moving her room to the lower level of the house, so that she wouldn't have to strain herself going up the stairs.

She had never felt so… worthless.

Her hands had trembled at her sides, fingers clenched tightly into her palms. She'd tried to hide it in front of Sakura, but the moment her aunt had slipped from the room, clicked the door shut softly behind her, Emiko had let the tears come.

They'd flowed freely down her face, the salty wetness of a nightmare made tangible. A visual representation of just how truly weak she was. Her fists tightened, nails cutting into the soft flesh of her palms. Let herself feel the pain, ride the wave of sadness and longing and fear.

Without even thinking, she'd stepped towards her bookshelf. A tiny ceramic bear was cradled in the palm of her hands. A gift from Sakura for her 8th birthday. Tiny animals lined the bookshelves, proudly displayed. It was a collection of something beautiful, something delicate and soft and fragile. Something small, a way to hold onto her childhood naivety. A wry, choked chuckle forced its way out like a hiccough, as she realized she was just as small, fragile, and helpless as this menagerie of hers was.

Ceramic cracked in her palm.. Blood pooled between her fingers, dripped onto the wood floors. She didn't notice the biting pain as her hands continued to shake.

Piece by piece that red coated ceramic hit the floor, scattering into a shattered, terrifying mosaic.

Each piece, each carefully selected animal stared back at her. She swore she saw their eyes widen in fear, swore she saw them trembling at the monster she surely resembled, standing before them sobbing and covered in blood.

An elephant followed the bear.

A cat, followed by a rabbit.

Each animal fell, crumbling to pieces on the floor.

She should care, she knew. Should be worried that her hands were being cut to ribbons, but she didn't.

She just wanted them to stop staring, to stop being so afraid of her.

-

"You didn't put anyone in danger, Komatsu. Each of your classmates chose to-"

She cut him off with a soft laugh, "They had to fight three times harder because I was there, dragging them down."

"Where do you get that idea from?"

"It's the truth. It's not some delusion - some made up thing in my head." She spat, her words laced with acid. Her fear, her sadness was burned away in an instant.

"Emiko, you were all in danger. You did not put them in any danger - Stain did that."

"You're wrong. They had to cover for me - Shoto had to stop fighting and save my life, all because I. Wasn't. Strong. Enough." She enunciated the words, as if hearing them separately would drill the idea into his head.

"My quirk is not meant for hero work. I realize that now. I couldn't win in a fight against Shoto, or Deku or Katsuki or Iida. Kirishima and Kaminari would kick my ass, and Momo would embarrass me in a one on one fight. Do you know why that is?"

Aizawa looked back at her, his sleepy eyes clouded in worry.

"I'll give you a hint. It's not because I didn't try. Do you have any idea how many times I look around that classroom and feel like I don't belong? Look at the collection of quirks my classmates have. They're all going to be great heroes when they graduate, even before, and then there's me."

"Komatsu, just because your quirk isn't traditional, doesn't mean you don't have potential. You were accepted into this course - Nezu and I see great potential in you, and I don't think losing one fight should force you to give up on something you've worked your entire life for."

Of course he doesn't get it.

"I'm not going to withdraw you from the hero course, Komatsu."

"What? But I don't want to be here!" She exclaimed, standing from her desk.

"You're a terrible liar. Sit down."

She let out a puff of air, rolled her eyes and settled back into her seat. Her fingers clenched in her skirt, fidgeted with the pleated hem.

"I know you're scared."

She scoffed, rolling her eyes.

I'M NOT SCARED FOR ME.

She wanted to scream those words at him, to force them into his head. She knew he wouldn't get it, knew he would make her stay. She had known it, but still…

… She had to try. If nothing else, she'd had to try.

"I'm not scared. Not for me, at least." she whispered, trying to temper the fiery rage growing in her stomach. "I'm scared that next time, next time I am in a fight, next time I am near a villain…"

"I'm scared that I'm going to die. And not in the sense that I am scared to die. I accepted that a long, long time ago. I'm scared that the heroes I'm fighting side by side with won't be able to focus on the fight when they have to worry about useless Emiko getting hurt."

The words were too honest, too harsh. They were too raw, too close a look into the way her mind worked, but she didn't care.

"I am scared of dying and leaving my aunt alone. I'm all she has left, and if I die… well, then she wouldn't have anyone, and she'd work herself to death."

Aizawa made to speak, to interrupt the ramblings of his student. A student, who in his eyes, was clearly going through some sort of crisis.

"It's okay." She tried to smile softly, tried to make him think that rage had burned itself out, "I understand. I hope you're right, though."

She stood, moving towards the back of the class, settling herself in her desk.

"Just remember that you made the decision, not me."

"Komatsu," he called out. "Emiko. I promise I will see you collecting your diploma side by side with your classmates, I promise that each and every student that walked into my class that first day will be up there. I believe each and every one of you will usher in another golden age of heroes."

Silence hung in the air in the absence of Aizawa's words as he stood as well, turning his head slightly as her classmates began to filter into the room, commotion and noise swirling around them. She heard Kaminari's infectious laughter, Katsuki screaming obscenities. She watched with a grin as Deku shuffled into class beside Ochaco, the pair both flushed from head to toe. Momo walked in beside Iida, dark hair glinting under the fluorescent bulbs.

She wanted to smile, wanted to join in the laughter and the comraderie, but she knew that if she grew any more attached, if she let them grow more attached…

… they would lose her.